Aunt Adelaide, in her goodness, rose early enough to meet Christine for breakfast. She was by turns full of compliments and tears, and she made Christine promise to write.

"But of course I will, Aunt," Christine said. "I will never forget how good you have been to me."

They had a tiny battle over the ugly cushion, which Christine won by persuading Aunt to keep it as a memento. She rather suspected that this was what Aunt wanted. Aunt also confided, a little breathlessly, that Cousin Charles was going to continue her allowance, for which Christine was very glad.

"Oh, Aunt! Then you must put in the new lilac bushes." The little old lady was so happy at her new comfort and so sad to see her companion go that she was all a-flutter, and Christine wished that she could pack Aunt up and take her along.

"I promise to write often," she said as she stepped into the carriage. "And I won't forget to keep my stitches even." Aunt stood by the gate and waved her handkerchief for as long as Christine could see her.

It seemed as if the hard parts were over. The Opéra was behind her, Raoul was behind her, and she could, for the first time in her life, make her own choices. It would be a difficult decision, with the whole world open to her. "I could go to Russia!" she thought to herself with a little thrill, "or as far as America!" Surely in America they would not begrudge her a little scandal. She had several pangs for Raoul during the course of the journey, but no regrets. Perhaps at some point—once he was married, or when they were both old enough to be beyond harm—they could be friends again. But it was hard for her to brood. It was the best kind of adventure, she thought, when one had enough money to feel safe about it.

In the meantime, she was going home. She had Meg's letter in her reticule—she would arrive without warning, but she felt sure of her welcome. How surprised they would be! And if they were somehow in dire circumstances, well: she could help. While they had been ballet rats, Meg and Christine had often walked arm in arm through the fashionable streets, staring into shop windows and dreaming of the days when they would be able to actually buy something for themselves. Even if it was a foolish waste of her resources, Christine would take them both shopping. She grinned at the thought.

One of the horses threw a shoe late morning, so it was not until early evening that the carriage drew into the neighborhood where the Girys were living. She was pleased by it—that it was a series of tidy streets with well-kept lamps spoke well of their circumstances. Here was another heartbreak avoided. Her two bags were small enough that she carried them herself up the stairs, which were narrow but brightly lit. Her friends had not been suffering. The maid who answered the door looked a bit like a scarecrow, but then Christine heard Meg's voice and she ran down the hallway toward it. There they were—healthy and whole, and Christine felt that she would burst with joy at seeing them.

A flash of white in the corner drew her eye, and the floor lurched under her feet. Not dead at all, but sitting calmly, impossibly, in this room with a quill in his hand, staring at her warily as he had once before. That time, she had pulled away his mask. Not dead after all. "God," she said. "My God."

There was a pause that seemed to last for hours. She was so glad to be standing in the doorway. She remembered his eyes, those sea-changing eyes whose color mutated with every mood, and if she had been any closer, she would have fallen into them and been lost.

"My dear," Mme. Giry said, and then Meg broke in.

"You don't have to worry! Everything is all right, Christine. Erik has been so good to us!" Her blood was like ice in her veins, that cold, that sluggish.

"Erik?" she said. Meg and Mme. Giry looked at one another, then at her.

"That is my name," he said in his gorgeous voice, the voice pitched to touch her very core. He had never told her his name. He had always, only been her Angel of Music, and she had mourned him, silently, but here he was, sitting with her two closest friends in all the world, and they knew his name. She burst into tears.